Sacrifice (From Last Year 2023)

Parashat Vayigash tells of how Yaakov and his sons moved from Eretz Yisrael to Egypt. A terrible famine struck the region, and the only country which had food was Egypt, where Yosef was the ruler. After Yosef revealed himself to his brothers, who had come to Egypt to buy food, he told them to go back home and bring Yaakov and their families to live with him in Egypt, where he would support them. The Torah (46:28) tells that as Yaakov made his way to Egypt, he sent his son Yehuda ahead to "show the way before him." Rashi explains this to mean that Yehuda was sent ahead to establish a yeshiva in Egypt, so it would be ready for Yaakov and his family when they arrive. Others explain that this refers to basic needs like housing and the like. Regardless, we might ask why specifically Yehuda was chosen for this role. What was special about Yehuda that made him the right person for this job, instead of any of Yaakov's other sons? Rav Moshe Sternbuch explains that Yehuda possessed a certain quality that is essential in order to successfully build. And that quality is the willingness to sacrifice. We see this quality in several instances. For example, we read in last week's parashah , Parashat Miketz, that the brothers found themselves in a very difficult position when the ruler of Egypt – who they did not realize was actually Yosef – ordered them to return home and bring their youngest brother, Binyamin, to Egypt. Yaakov adamantly refused to allow Binyamin, his youngest and most beloved son, to go to Egypt, but the family had no food, and they could not go to Egypt to buy food without Binyamin. At that point, Yehuda stepped up and took personal responsibility for Binyamin. He told his father that if he would not bring Binyamin back to him, then "I will have sinned against you for all the days" (43:9). The Rabbis explained that Yehuda here declared that he would forfeit his entire share in the next world if he failed to bring Binyamin back safely to his father. This is how far Yehuda was willing to go in sacrificing for the sake of his family. In the beginning of our parashah , Yosef wanted to keep Binyamin in Egypt as his slave, but Yehuda stepped forward and begged Yosef to allow him to remain in Egypt forever as Yosef's slave in Binyamin's stead. Yehuda was prepared to spend the rest of his life as a slave in a foreign country so that his younger brother could return safely home to Yaakov. This is why specifically Yehuda was chosen to go ahead of the family as they made their way to Egypt. Building requires sacrifice. If a person wants to build anything, he needs to be willing to sacrifice, to let go of things he wants, for the sake of the goal that he is pursuing. This is especially true when it comes to building a relationship. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Bava Metzia (59a): איתתך גוצא גחין ותלחוש לה – "If your wife is short, then bend down and whisper to her." Clearly, the Gemara cannot simply be giving this simple piece of advice, to lean down when necessary to talk to one's wife. Rather, the Gemara is teaching us that in order to build a happy marriage, we need to be able to "bend," to yield, to give in, to go to the other spouse's place to understand him or her. A person cannot expect to have a great relationship without "bending," without sacrificing. Sacrificing is a great challenge in today's day and age. Growing up in our society, youngsters are not conditioned to sacrifice, to give of themselves, to "bend." But this is something we need to teach them and to model for them. Sacrifice is such a crucial quality. The ability to restrain ourselves, to tell ourselves "no," to give up something that we want, is indispensable for achievement. If a person wants to build a successful career or business, he needs to sacrifice. If a person wants to build a great marriage, he needs to sacrifice. If a person wants to be a great parent, he needs to sacrifice. The more we learn how to bend, to give of ourselves, the more we will achieve and succeed in everything we do.

Yosef's brothers arrived in Egypt to purchase grain, as they faced a harsh famine in the Land of Israel, leaving them and their families without food. They stood before the ruler of Egypt, the second-in-command to Pharaoh, not realizing that this was their brother, Yosef, whom they had sold to merchants as a slave many years earlier. Yosef proceeded to accuse them of coming to Egypt as spies, and demanded that they bring their youngest brother, Binyamin, to prove their claim, that they were brothers who had come to purchase grain for the family. The brothers, reflecting on this unexpected turmoil, recognized that they were being punished for what they had done to Yosef many years earlier: אבל אשמים אנחנו על אחינו, אשר ראינו צרת נפשו בהתחננו אלינו ולא שמענו. Alas, we are guilty in regard to our brother, that we saw his distress when he was pleading with us, but we did not listen . (42:21) Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch writes that the word אשמים stems from the word שממה – "desolation." When a person recognizes that he had made a terrible mistake, that he chose a course that was entirely wrong, he feels a devastating sense of emptiness within him. The letter א at the beginning of אשמים , Rav Hirsch explains, signifies אני – "I," such that אשמים means, "I caused myself desolation." When we regret something, when we realize that we've made a serious mistake that had terrible consequences, we often feel unrelenting pain over the fact that we brought about our own ruin. The brothers were certain that getting rid of Yosef was the right thing to do. At the time, it seemed clear to them that this was the necessary and just course of action. They saw him as a threat to the family. But now, as they faced a grave crisis in Egypt, they realized that they had been wrong. And so they cried, אשמים אנחנו , feeling devastated by the mistake they had made. The question becomes, how should we handle these devastating feelings? We all experience regret over the course of life. As we grow older, we come to realize that some of the decisions we had made in the past were wrong, or even very wrong, and, in some cases, ended up causing a lot of anguish either to ourselves or to others. How can we deal with the "empty" feeling that we experience when we think about mistakes which we've made that had terrible consequences? Perhaps the most important thing we need to understand in order to handle regret is that right now, at this point, no matter what we've done or didn't do, no matter what terrible mistakes we've made in the past, Hashem is with us. He hasn't given up on us. He is holding our hand and helping us to correct our past mistakes and make the very most of our current situation. Nobody exemplifies this more than Yosef. As Yosef languished in an Egyptian dungeon for thirteen years, we can easily imagine him asking himself, "If only I hadn't worn that special coat that my father made for me!" "If only I hadn't reported to my father about the bad things my brothers were doing!" "If only I hadn't told my brothers about my dreams!" "If only I hadn't gone to check on my brothers alone!" In hindsight, each of those things he did appear very foolish. And they led to his life being completely ruined. Yosef was in a dungeon, serving a life sentence without any possibility of parole, with – as far as he knew – absolutely nobody caring about him. But Yosef did not despair. He never forgot that Hashem was with him, even in the dungeon. Even at our lowest points, and even at our low points which we ourselves caused, Hashem is helping us. As long as we are still alive, Hashem can help us attain happiness and set our lives back on track. Yosef maintained his optimism and his faith in Hashem, and, sure enough, through the unlikeliest series of circumstances, he was brought out of the dungeon and made the second-in-command over Egypt. Whatever mistakes we've made, we shouldn't allow them to imprison us forever. We should not spend our lives saddled by a heavy burden of regret. We should instead trust in Hashem's unending love for us, and firmly believe that He is holding our hand and helping us get our lives back in the right direction.

The Shulchan Aruch ( Orah Haim 670:2) writes: ריבוי הסעודות שמרבים בהם הם סעודות הרשות, שלא קבעום למשתה ושמחה . The extra meals that people add [during Hanukah] are optional meals, because they [the Rabbis] did not institute them [these days] as [a time of] feasting and rejoicing. According to halacha , there is no obligation whatsoever to have special meals or eat special foods on Hanukah. The celebration of Hanukah starkly contrasts in this regard with the celebration of Purim, when there is a mitzvah to have a special meal, no less an obligation than the obligation to hear the Megillah reading or to send mishloah manot . On Hanukah, the mitzvot we are required to observe are the nightly candle lighting, and להודות להלל – to express praise and gratitude to Hashem for the great miracle of the Jews' victory over the Greeks and the miracle of the oil in the menorah . There is no mitzvah to have a special meal, or to have a Hanukah party. Several explanations have been given for this distinction between Hanukah and Purim. One explanation is given by the Levush , who writes that the danger we faced at the time of the Hanukah story was much different from the danger we faced at the time of the Purim story. Haman wanted to destroy the Jewish People, whereas the Greeks wanted to destroy the Jewish religion. The Greeks did not want to kill the Jews; they wanted the Jews to stop practicing their religion, and to adopt the Greeks' beliefs, culture and lifestyle. Haman was just the opposite – he wanted to kill all the Jews, regardless of what they did or how they acted. Therefore, the Levush explains, on Purim, when we were physically threatened, we celebrate through physical expressions of joy – eating and drinking. On Hanukah, we were threatened spiritually, and so we celebrate through spiritual means – lighting candles and reciting Hallel to give praise to Hashem. Despite this, as we know, Hanukah is traditionally celebrated with feasting. "Hanukah parties" have become an integral part of the Hanukah experience. Families get together for eating, fun, and exchanging gifts. Although the Shulchan Aruch clearly ruled that parties are not required on Hanukah, this has become the norm. In truth, the Shulchan Aruch himself appears to acknowledge that this practice was common already in his time. The Hiddushei Ha'Rim points out that the Shulchan Aruch does not simply write that there is no obligation to eat festive meals on Hanukah. Instead, the Shulhan Aruch writes that ריבוי הסעודות שמרבים בהם הם סעודות הרשות – the extra meals that people eat are optional. It seems clear that this was something that people did already in the Shulchan Aruch 's time, and he was just clarifying that this is not strictly required according to halachah . The Hiddushei Ha'Rim explains that Hashem wants our parties and festive meals on Hanukah to come from our hearts, from our own initiative, and not from a sense of halachic obligation. The Bet Ha'mikdash was ransacked and defiled by the Greeks, and it was then rescued, purified, and rededicated. This should generate such joy and excitement within us that we should automatically rejoice and feast. The Hiddushei Ha'Rim draws an analogy to a poor, downtrodden, lonely peasant, who suddenly discovered that he would be marrying the princess. Does he need to be told to have a festive celebration? We were downtrodden and alone, without the Bet Ha'mikdash , and without the opportunity to learn Torah or perform mitzvot – until, miraculously, we defeated the Greeks so we could once again have a relationship with Hashem. This should evoke such joy that we celebrate without a halachic obligation to do so! The Hanukah candles are lit during the darkest, dreariest time of year, symbolizing our nation's remarkable ability to shine brightly even under the most difficult circumstances. We have always faced great challenges, of many different kinds, and yet, despite all the hardship, and despite our many faults, we always shine. Torah learning and observance have survived against all odds, and we continue to show our love and devotion to one another, aways rising to the occasion when a fellow Jew is in need. On Hanukah, when we see the lights shining in the dark, and we contemplate the bright light of Am Yisrael , we are driven to celebrate and feast even without being obligated to do so. We are overcome with joy and pride, and with gratitude to Hashem for the miraculous survival of Torah throughout the millennia. Feasting on Hanukah may be optional – but we do it because there's no way we can't feast when we see the Hanukah lights and think about the greatness of our nation, how brightly we shine, with Hashem's help. We are naturally drawn to joyously celebrate our spiritual survival and achievements even in the face of adversity, from the time of the Greeks until our day.

The Gemara in Masechet Hagigah (5b) tells of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Hananiah, who was exceptionally effective in responding to the heretics of his time, those who worked to challenge Judaism and oppose the Jewish faith. When he grew old, and it was apparent that he would soon leave this world, the Rabbis approached him to express their concern over how they would deal with the heretics after his passing. Rabbi Yehoshua reassured the Rabbis by citing a pasuk (Yirmiyahu 49:7) indicating that when wise people are lost from the Jewish Nation, the wise from the enemy nations are lost, as well. Meaning, Hashem ensures to maintain a constant balance in the world between the forces of good and the forces of evil. And so if Rabbi Yehoshua, a strong counterforce to the powers of evil, was departing, then those forces will necessarily be diminished. Rabbi Yehoshua drew further support for this concept from a pasuk in Parashat Vayishlah. After Yaakov and Esav's dramatic reunion, Esav extends an offer to Yaakov, asking that they travel together: נסעה ונלכה, ואלכה לנגדך – 33:12). This indicates that "Yaakov" and "Esav" work in tandem. There is a certain balance between good and evil. Hashem sees to it that the forces of "Yaakov" and "Esav" work together in the sense that there is always good, and there is always bad. To probe a bit deeper, and to understand how this concept is practically relevant to each and every one of us, let us look at Yaakov Avinu's response to Esav's offer. Yaakov tells Esav to continue forward without him, עד אשר אבוא אל אדוני שעירה – until Yaakov would eventually catch up to him, in Seir. Meaning, Yaakov declines Eisav's offer, preferring that Esav go forward while he, Yaakov, would travel at his own place and join Eisav at some point in the future. Of course, as we know, Yaakov never went to join Esav in Se'ir. He went to Eretz Yisrael , and his descendants, the Jewish People, have always lived separate and apart from Esav. Rashi explains that Yaakov referred to the time of Mashiah , when the world will reach perfection, at which point the descendants of Yaakov and Esav will be reunited. In our current reality, until the time of Mashiah , we are in a constant state of limbo. We are always on a journey, making our way to our destination, without reaching it. This is true both in the national sense, regarding Am Yisrael 's journey, and individually, in the life of each person. The Jewish People have almost always been on a journey, having experienced virtually no periods of perfect stability, where we were right where we were supposed to be. But this is true also individually. Is there any person who can say that he is precisely where he wants to be, that his marriage is perfect, his income is perfect, his health is perfect, his children are perfect, all his relationships are perfect, his religious observance is perfect, and everything in life is exactly the way he wants it to be? Of course not. In every person's life, there is a "balance" between "Yaakov" and "Esav," between good and bad. There are things to be grateful for, and there are things which we would prefer not to have to deal with. Until Mashiah comes, we are on a journey, during which we balance these two aspects of our reality. It is vitally important for us to recognize this truth, that life is not supposed to be perfect, that we cannot and should not expect it to be perfect. We feel discontented and aggravated because we expect to already be at our destination, to reach the completion of our journey, to experience perfection. When we live with this expectation, we make it all but inevitable that we will feel unhappy and bitter due to life's challenges. Once we realize that life is supposed to be a journey, that we are supposed to live in limbo, then life's challenges become so much easier to deal with. We accept them as part of our journey, as part of the "Yaakov-Esav balance" that we are supposed to experience. We will recognize that we have so much goodness in our lives to rejoice over, alongside the hardships which we are expected to handle to the best of our ability. Many people go through life thinking that once such-and-such problem is resolved, their lives will be perfect and they will feel happy. But by the time that problem is resolved, there is another problem which arises – and this becomes the problem that needs to be solved in order to attain happiness. We must train ourselves to accept the reality of our life's ongoing journey, that life will always be a balance of "Yaakov" and "Esav," of the good and the less good, and we can feel content and blessed with the good fortune we enjoy even while struggling with the less desirable aspects of our lives.

We read in Parashat Vayetze of Yaakov Avinu's arrangement with his father-in-law, Lavan, whereby he would work for seven years and then be given Lavan's daughter, Rachel, as a wife. As we know, Lavan deceived Yaakov, bringing Yaakov at the end of the seven years his other daughter, Leah, instead of Rachel. He then allowed Yaakov to marry Rachel a week later, on condition that he work for another seven years. The Torah makes a very surprising comment about the first seven years that Yaakov spent working for Lavan in exchange for Rachel's hand in marriage: ויהיו בעיניו כימים אחדים באהבתו אותה – "They were in his eyes like just a few days, because of his love for her" (29:20). This seems to mean that because Yaakov loved Rachel so much, the seven years he spent working so he could marry her felt like just a few days. At first glance, this is backwards. We would think just the opposite – that since Yaakov loved Rachel so much, and wanted to marry her, those seven years would feel like an eternity! Why did these seven years seem like "just a few days"?! The answer is that this was not just about Rachel and Yaakov's feelings for her. Yaakov understood that he was now about to embark on the historical mission of building the Jewish Nation. As he slept along the roadside on his way to Lavan's house, he beheld a prophecy promising him that he would be the father of Hashem's special nation. Furthermore, Rashi famously tells that the stones beneath his head merged into a single stone – and some commentators explain that these were twelve stones that came together, symbolizing the fact that Yaakov would have twelve sons that together would form Am Yisrael . Yaakov knew that he was now building a great nation. And if this was what it was all about, then indeed, a period of seven years isn't a long time to wait. Each and every one of us, too, is building something great. Every household, every institution, is another vitally important link in the chain of Am Yisrael . Thus, everyone involved in building a home is, like Yaakov Avinu, involved in building something monumental, building the Jewish Nation. And just like Yaakov Avinu, we need to remember this in order to keep a proper perspective when challenges arise during our process of building. Raising a family can be fraught with struggles. Children get sick, they challenge their parents' authority, they don't always succeed in school, and they aren't always obedient. Finances are sometimes very tight. The house might have problems which the family cannot afford to fix. Not everything is going to proceed as smoothly as we want it to. When struggles arise, we need to remember Yaakov Avinu's perspective. When we build a home, we are building Am Yisrael . We are building something special, something monumental. And whenever we build something great, complications are going to arise – but it's so worth it. Whatever struggles we face over the course of our "building" should be considered as ימים אחדים , as just a little inconvenience which we are happy to go through for the lofty objective of doing our part of build Am Yisrael .

What is the defining difference between us Jews and the surrounding society? There are several, but if I had to choose one, I would say: the tattoo. The most significant and fundamental difference between us and them is the tattoo. Why do I say that? True, tattoos are forbidden by the Torah, but so are cheese burgers. So why do I see tattoos as reflecting the defining difference between us and our society, rather than cheese burgers – or the many other things which they do which we don't?? The answer is that the tattoo is permanent, and the young person who gets a tattoo does so without thinking beyond the immediate here-and-now. People get tattoos of the logos of their favorite sports team – but how do they know that they will still be rooting for that team in thirty years? How do they know that they will even be interested in sports in thirty years? People get tattoos of dragons and the like on visible parts of their body, like the neck. How do they know that they won't one day seek a high position in a major corporation, where such images are wholly inappropriate? Of course, the young people who get these tattoos aren't thinking long-term. They like the idea of the tattoo now, so they get it, without taking the future into account. And this might be the most important distinction between us and them. We are the eternal nation. This means not only that the Jewish People are guaranteed to exist forever, but that we live each day with an awareness of our future, both individual and collective. We live with an understanding that we are part of a story that began millennia ago with Avraham Avinu, and will continue forever. We cannot focus only the here-and-now. We are always thinking of our future, our legacy, the everlasting impact that we have, and our children and our grandchildren. This "eternity mindset" is one of the defining characteristics of the Jewish experience. We read in Parashat Toldot the story of Esav selling the birthright to Yaakov. Esav came in from the fields weary and famished, and found Yaakov making a lentil stew. Rashi explains that on this day, their grandfather, Avraham Avinu, passed away, and Yaakov was cooking lentils because it is traditionally a food fed to mourners. The round shape of the lentil symbolizes our belief in eternity; just as a circle has no end, we believe that life does not end after death, as the soul lives forever. Esav, however, saw this food and asked Yaakov to feed him מן האדום האדום הזה – "from this red, red stuff" (25:30). Esav didn't see the symbolism of the lentils; he saw only their color. He saw everything superficially. He didn't look beyond the immediate present. Yaakov knew at that point that Esav could not be a part of the process of building Am Yisrael . He could not be a patriarch of the eternal nation. And so Yaakov demanded that Esav give him the birthright. Part of what makes us unique is this long-term mentality, the understanding that there is so much more to life than the fleeting moment, that so many things that seem important right now are, from the perspective of the eternal nation, so trivial and insignificant. When we live with the "eternity mindset," we see beyond the "red" of the "lentils," we see everything on a deeper level. We are then able to keep our priorities straight, to know what's important, what has value, what deserves our time and our attention, and what doesn't. And when we live like this, we make the most of every day we are given, and use our time in this world to have the greatest long-term impact that we can make.

Parashat Hayeh-Sara tells of Avraham Avinu's efforts to purchase מערת המכפלה – the Machpeila Cave in Hevron, where he wished to bury his wife, Sara, who had just passed away. The territory of this special cave was owned by a man named Efron. After Efron first said that he would give the land to Avraham free of charge, he then turned to Avraham and said, ארץ ארבע מאות שקל כסף ביני ובינך מה היא – "What is a 400-shekel piece of land between us?" (23:15). Avraham immediately paid Efron this sum – 400 silver coins, which was an outrageously exorbitant amount of money for this property. Efron's tactic is one which many a wily salesman has used since then. Many of us have probably had the experience of somebody trying to sell us something, and he tells us, "Because I like you," or "Because you're a friend," or "Because you're a valued customer" he was offering a "discounted" price. This price is not necessarily a discount, and the merchandise or service is not something we necessarily need or even want, but framing the deal in this way, making us believe that he actually likes us, cares about us, and wants to do something nice to us, convinces us that this is to our benefit, which in truth, it isn't. Rashi (23:16) notes that in the pasuk that tells of Avraham paying Efron the 400 coins, Efron's name is spelled unusually. Throughout this section, his name is spelled עפרון, but in this pasuk, it is spelled עפרן, without the letter ו'. Rashi explains that because Efron acted dishonestly, pretending to be Avraham's friend, to be giving him a great deal, when in fact he was charging an outrageous sum, a letter was taken out of Efron's name. People act dishonestly because they see only the here-and-now. They see an opportunity to make money or obtain something they want by being less than truthful, and so they go ahead and do it. But long-term, this has the effect of ruining their "name," their reputation. Dishonesty might yield short-term benefit, but it causes long-term harm. A single dishonest act can ruin a person's reputation and standing, forever. If we think long-term, we realize that dishonesty hurts us infinitely more than it helps us. The contrast to Efron's shortsightedness is Sara Imenu. The first pasuk of our parashah tells us that Sara lived for 127 years, and it then concludes, שני חיי שרה – "these were the years of Sara." Rashi explains that this phrase was added to tell us that כולן שווין לטובה – Sara's days were all equally good. At first glance, this seems very difficult to understand. Sara went through many ordeals over the course of her life. She went with her husband to a new land as commanded by Hashem, and soon after they arrived, a famine struck, forcing them to move again, to Egypt, where she was forcibly taken by the king. She would be abducted again later, by a different king (Avimelech). She was childless for many years, eventually having Avraham marry her maidservant, who then immediately conceived, and started disrespecting Sara. Sara did not have an easy life. So how could Rashi say that the days of her life were all equally good? The answer is that although Sara's life wasn't all easy, all her days – both good and bad – led her to her share in the world to come. In the short-term, she had some difficult periods. But in the long-term, even the hard times were "good," because she lived not for the moment, but for eternity, to live in the service of Hashem, through thick and thin, and earn her share in the next world. Things which seem appealing in the moment, in the "here-and-now," can ruin our "name," and cause us long-term harm. Whenever we feel tempted to lie, to gossip, to say something we shouldn't, to forego a mitzvah, or to act in a way we know is wrong, let's remember the long-term benefits of doing the right thing – which always, but always, far exceed the fleeting, short-term benefits of the wrong thing which we currently feel like doing.

Parashat Vayera tells us the story of Lot, Avraham Avinu's nephew, who was living in Sedom, a city of very wicked people, and which Hashem condemned to annihilation. Hashem saved Lot by sending two angels to bring him and his family out of the city. Lot and his two unmarried daughters were saved, but his sons-in-law laughed at him when he told them the city was about to be destroyed. They remained in the city and were killed. To understand more about Lot and who he was, let us briefly look back at his history with his uncle, Avraham Avinu. The Torah says that when Avraham moved from his home to Eretz Yisrael , as Hashem had commanded, וילך איתו לוט – Lot went with him. Later, they were forced to temporarily move to Egypt to escape a famine in the Land of Israel, and while in Egypt, they became very wealthy. The Torah says that Avraham moved back to Eretz Yisrael ולוט עמו – and Lot was with him. Then, we read that there was not enough pasture for Avraham and Lot's cattle, and the Torah says about Lot in this context, ללוט ההולך את אברהם – he was with Avraham. The Torah uses different words for the word "with" in these pesukim . Sometimes it uses the word את or איתו , and sometimes it uses the word עם , or עמו . Why? Imagine two friends or siblings who decide to go into the city together. They meet at the subway station, and ride the train together to the city, talking to each other and being very excited to be together. Now let's imagine two people who never met one each other and have absolutely nothing to do with each other, sitting next to each other on the subway train, hardly away of each other's existence. In both cases, the two people are riding "together" on the subway, but these are very different kinds of "together." In the Torah, the word עם describes the first type of together, where people aren't together incidentally, but rather are really together as a pair. The word את or איתו describes the second kind of together – where people happen to be together, but aren't really bonded. They are physically together, but their "togetherness" is incidental. When Avraham first journeyed from his homeland, not knowing where he was going, trusting in Hashem's promises, וילך איתו לוט – Lot joined him only because he had nobody else, as his father had died. He wasn't enthusiastic about being with his uncle, leaving to an uncertain future, but he joined anyway. But then, after they became wealthy in Egypt, ולוט עמו – Lot was really with him, excited and happy about the good fortune he enjoyed as a result of being with Avraham. Afterward, however, when they had problems finding pasture, ההולך את אברהם – Lot was again less than enthusiastic about being with Avraham. Indeed, Lot left Avraham and went to reside in Sedom. And the Torah says הפרד לוט מ עמו – Lot was no longer עמו , he did not feel connected to Avraham. There are two kinds of religious Jews – unconditional Jews, and conditional Jews. Unconditional Jews are those who remain loyal to Hashem and the mitzvot no matter what. They are devoted to Torah in good times and in not such good times. They observe the mitzvot that they understand, and those that they don't understand. They follow halachah when it's convenient and when it's not so convenient. The unconditional religious Jew, by contrast, makes his commitment conditional. He is loyal to the mitzvot only when he understands, or only when it's convenient, or only when in fits into his schedule, or only as long as observance doesn't get too much in the way of other things he wants to do. Lot was the second type of Jew. He wasn't a bad person, but his allegiance to Avraham and Avraham's values was conditional. As long as things were going well, he was truly "with" Avraham, bonded and connected to Avraham's faith and values. But once things became difficult, he was no longer truly "with" his uncle. Returning to our parashah , Hashem tells us why He chose Avraham for a special mission: למען אשר יצווה את בניו ואת ביתו אחריו לשמור את דרך ה' (18:19) – because He knew that Avraham Avinu would succeed in transmitting his teachings to his offspring, ensuring that his descendants would embrace his faith and his values. Lot, however, as mentioned, was not this successful. Some of his children scoffed at his warnings of what would happen to Sedom, and he had two daughters who later committed a grave sin with him. When we are consistent, remaining devoted to mitzvot even when this is not convenient, even when we aren't in the mood, and even when we don't fully understand – we will have a better chance of inspiring our children to do the same. If they see our passionate and uncompromising commitment, that we are consistent, that we don't make conditions and don't make compromises, then they are more likely to follow our example. But if we are like Lot, committed to Hashem only on our terms, we have less of a chance of raising committed children. Let us be "Avraham Jews," committed to Hashem unconditionally, through thick and thin, in the good times and bad, and may we thus succeed in raising children who proudly and steadfastly devote themselves to Torah and mitzvot .

Parashat Lech-Lecha begins with Hashem speaking to Avraham Avinu and commanding, לך לך – to go forth from his homeland, and journey to an unknown place, which, of course, turned out to be Eretz Yisrael . Hashem promised Avraham that he would be showered with great blessings in his new land. What was true of Avraham, the founder of our nation, is true for each and every one of us, his descendants and bearers of his legacy. In order to bring blessing into our lives, we need to respond to the call of לך לך , to leave something behind and proceed to the unknown. If we think about it, each of us has our own personal לך לך story. For some, it was leaving behind a bad habit that they were hooked on. For some, it was leaving a friend or group of friends to avoid negative influences, not knowing if they would find new friends. For some, it was turning down a shidduch because of spiritual concerns, not knowing when another good opportunity would present itself. For some, it was making a difficult school choice for themselves or their children, or a difficult career choice, not knowing what the future would bring. We have all heard the call of לך לך at some point in our lives, when we were forced to leave something behind for the sake of Hashem. There is also another call of לך לך , one which has become especially pertinent in today's day and age, and which bears particular resemblance to the original call of לך לך which was made to Avraham Avinu. And that is the call to go forth from our surroundings, to leave the society around us. In order to succeed as Hashem's special nation, we need to have the courage to "go forth," to be different, to withdraw, to separate ourselves from the surrounding culture. In order to build a nation and earn Hashem's blessings, Avraham had to leave behind the values and lifestyles of the society he grew up in. Similarly, we, his descendants, must have the strength and the resolve to "leave" our society's values that conflict with our values. Hashem promises Avraham, ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה – that all of mankind will be blessed through Avraham. This means that Avraham would fundamentally change the world, forever. Avraham was the first to teach the belief in Hashem, and the belief in morality, in ethical behavior, the importance of sensitivity and kindness to other people. Ironically, Avraham was able to bring about this change specifically by engaging with the people of his time, by getting involved, by interacting with society. The same man who was commanded לך לך , to separate himself and withdraw, was expected to change the world through his positive influence, which was possible only through engagement and interaction. This is the delicate, exceedingly difficult, balance that we, Avraham's heirs, need to maintain. On the one hand, we need to set up barriers, to make it clear that we are different, that we follow a different value system and embrace different beliefs than the people around us. We must have the strength and courage to resist the influences of the surrounding society, and to stubbornly cling to Torah values and traditions, even when they are drastically different from those of society. But at the same time, we are not expected to isolate ourselves completely. We are supposed to interact and engage with other people – in a manner that brings blessing to the world. We are to interact with society in such a way that we influence them, rather than being influenced by them. We are to show the world how Hashem's special nation acts, what it means to be ethical, honest, courteous and dignified. If we do this, then we will succeed in changing the world just as Avraham Avinu did, and we will succeed in continuing the mission for which he and his descendants were chosen – to be a blessing to the entire world.

The Zohar tells of a conversation that took place between Noah and Hashem after the flood. Noah turned to Hashem and asked, "I thought You were a merciful, benevolent G-d. How could You allow such a thing to happen?!" Hashem replied by angrily calling Noah a רועה שוטה – "foolish shepherd." He said, "NOW you remember to care about the people?! I told you what I was planning on doing. I commanded you to build an ark because I was going to bring a flood that would destroy the entire earth. You spent 120 years building it. You had plenty of time to intervene, to pray, to help, to work to avert this catastrophe. Where were you then? You worried only about saving yourself and your family. Now you come and ask Me how I could do this??" The Zohar proceeds to contrast Noah with Avraham Avinu. When Avraham heard that Hashem was planning to destroy the city of Sedom, Avraham immediately interceded and prayed on Sedom's behalf. He did everything he could to save the people. Noah didn't do this. He just built the ark to save himself and his family. In 1923, hundreds of the greatest Rabbis in the world assembled in Vienna for the first Kenesiya Ha'gedola ("great assembly") of the Agudat Yisrael organization. These Rabbis included the Hafetz Haim , and there is a famous video clip of him arriving at the site in Vienna for this event. One of the speakers at this gathering was the legendary Rav Meir Shapiro, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Hachmeh Lublin yeshiva in Poland. It was at this event that Rav Shapiro introduced the idea of Daf Yomi , the daily Gemara study program which many thousands of people participate in to this very day. When Rav Shapiro got up to speak, he discussed this difference between Avraham and Noach. He described how Noach cared only for himself, while Avraham cared for everyone. "The reason for this assembly," Rav Shapiro said, "is that we believe that we need to be there for our brothers and sisters across the world. We cannot care only about ourselves. We must concern ourselves with the needs of the entire Jewish Nation. This is why we have come here – to discuss how we can help all our fellow Jews." Why, in fact, did Noach concern himself only with his and his family's wellbeing? Why did he not try to save the people of his generation? Could it possibly be that this man, whom the Torah describes as an איש צדיק ("righteous person"), was selfish and indifferent to the needs of other people? The answer is that Noah was weak. He lacked confidence in his ability to bring about change. He didn't think he could have an impact. And this was his mistake. This is why he was criticized and called a רועה שוטה . It is foolish to think that we cannot make a difference, that we cannot contribute. Other nations are called בני נח – the children of Noah, but we are the children of Avraham Avinu. We carry his legacy, his belief in the power of every person to have an impact. We cannot conveniently excuse ourselves from helping out, from getting involved, from donating, volunteering and contributing, by claiming that we have nothing meaningful to achieve, to give, or to add. As the children and heirs of Avraham Avinu, we need to believe in our ability, and have the self-confidence to act in any way we can. There are so many people who need assistance, and so many ways to help. Each of us can find an area in which to contribute, a way to make a difference, and it behooves all of us – especially during the difficult times in which the Jewish People currently find themselves – to believe in ourselves and do what we can to have a real impact.